


look at this photograph

by 2x2verse (agent_florida)



Series: Adoptedstuck [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Blogging, Cute, Domestic, Kid Fic, M/M, Photography
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-25
Updated: 2014-03-25
Packaged: 2018-01-17 00:22:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1367119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent_florida/pseuds/2x2verse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The things that never change intersect with the things that have. And just because they're dads doesn't mean they have to be adults.</p>
            </blockquote>





	look at this photograph

Mutie was about three months old, by Dave’s reckoning. (Two months, twenty-seven days, twenty-three hours and forty-seven minutes, with twelve seconds to spare. The internal clock had never stopped ticking.) By now, she had stopped with the incessant crying, but she still woke in the middle of the night with alarming frequency. “It’s your turn,” Dave mumbled into the pillow, punching John in the shoulder when he turned over.

“I know,” John grumbled back. And then, abruptly, Dave’s personal space heater was gone, sitting up and swiveling out of bed, putting on slippers, leaving quietly to go into the next room where the squalling was coming from. “Shh, it’s all right, Papa’s got you,” Dave could hear, and it was just as soothing to him as it probably was to Mutie.

They had that discussion within the first week. It wasn’t exactly a Mom-and-Dad type situation they had here, after all. Trying to come up with two separate and not completely stupid names for a father figure was kind of rough at first. John refused to go by Dad—Dave had tried it a few times, and every single mention made a shadow flit across John’s face. Still too raw for him. Still a little bitter that their daughter didn’t have a grandfather. Dave understood—the same feeling rolled through him whenever John casually added a ‘bro’ to the end of his sentences.

Father, though, that was too formal. Not about to roll off a child’s tongue easily. So they compromised. It seemed like that was all they were doing lately, compromising instead of one of them winning and the other losing. Weird. Maybe they were finally growing up. No, that couldn’t be right, Dave reasoned, especially as he heard John blowing a gentle raspberry onto one of Mutie’s fat cheeks. Or Papa, rather. Shit. He’d get the hang of this whole dads thing eventually. (He still couldn’t quite grasp that he was supposed to be Daddy. He was… Dave. Just Dave. And he happened to have a kid. _Shit._ )

Mutie quieted down. Dave rolled over into the empty spot John had left, just to steal his extra warmth. The pillow smelled like him. He could hear gentle shushing through the open door.

And then John started singing.

It was a rare pleasure to hear. Dave knew John always felt like it was cheating, to have his voice come out so effortlessly. Tone was only a play on breath, he explained, and since… everything, his melodies had come a little easier. Sometimes he’d hum a tune under his breath to himself in the shower, whistle off-key, but this, this warm, rich tone filled with affection—this he saved for their daughter.

And it was only the most precious thing Dave had ever heard.

“There’s a place for us, somewhere a place for us, peace and quiet and open air, wait for us somewhere…”

Oh, no. Not this shit. Not this shit that made Dave cry like a little girl. “There’s a time for us,” he called out softly, trying to shape his monotone into a melody.

“Someday a time for us,” John answered, his song a murmur. He did this thing, this thing that Dave always meant to capture on camera, where he laid back in the rocking chair and just let Mutie sprawl along his broad chest, tucking her head under his chin. He could nearly picture it now. “Time together with time to spare, time to look, time to care… oh, look, you’re asleep.”

And now he couldn’t get up without waking her.

Perfect.

\--

Dave’s internal alarm went off at 6:30, just like usual. John wasn’t back in bed, or Dave would be smothering him with sleepy morning-breath kisses before his husband (fuck. husband. _fuck_.) would push him out of the blankets and into the cold room, laughing and telling him to shower. Not today, motherfucker. Today, he grabbed the DSLR from his bedside table and flash-stepped into the nursery, trying to avoid excessive noise.

True to expectation, John was completely conked out in the rocker, chin nodded down and protecting Mutie’s cute little baby head from harm. She wasn’t supposed to be sleeping on her stomach yet, but she looked so peaceful like that, little fists grabbing onto two handfuls of John’s undershirt even as his arms cradled her.

He needed a picture of this moment. Yes, it would stay burned in the back of his mind forever, but he needed other people to see. See what, Dave didn’t quite know, but they needed to. The morning light was soft and dappled gray coming through the blinds, and set to black and white, a portrait studio couldn’t have framed it any better.

What a precious moment. Which, naturally, meant that Dave had to tell the entire Internet about it. He still hadn’t given up all those social networking sites, although since he and his friends had become famous through their SBURB adventures, a lot more people followed them these days. Even through his minor celebrity status, somehow people thought he wasn’t actually married. People who knew he was married would still sometimes make comments about oh, it must not have been such a happy marriage, because they never saw his wife. What fucking idiots. John, his husband ( _husband._ ), just valued his privacy. But this was the one way Dave could show him off and still feel safe about it.

So yeah, Dave posted the picture to his blog. But underneath was an absolutely glowing caption.

im literally the luckiest fucking man in the world. do you see this. do you see this shit. thats what i wake up to around here. isnt that just the cutest fucking thing. theyre gonna start making precious moments figurines of that vignette and theyre gonna have to pay me some massive royalties because i got a monopoly on cute shit cause i got here first. hes mine and so is she. thats my husband fuck i love him so much and our daughter look at her shes perfect. and he was fucking singing to her last night. he got her to stop crying and then fell asleep with her. i just. i cant. goodbye friends i am gone

\--

“Did you post a picture of me on the Internet?”

“Um,” came Dave’s eloquent reply. On the other side of the phone, John sounded incensed. “It wasn’t just you—“

“But Mutie, too. And I don’t think she wants that kind of publicity.”

“Come on, man,” Dave wheedled. He was in such huge fucking trouble. That was John’s voice of STERN FATHERLY DISAPPROVAL. “Did you even see it?”

“No, I just got a link in my Buzzfeed about Dave Strider’s newest blog post. Hold on.” A few clicks. Silence. That ticking noise as the scroll wheel of John’s mouse engaged. “Holy shit.”

“Should I start eulogizing myself now,” Dave quipped, “or do you want Lalonde to do it at my funeral?”

“No, I mean.” And there was the chuckle Dave always looked for. It was a sound of victory. “It’s really cute.”

“Well, the subject matter _is_ adorable,” Dave admitted.

“Not the picture,” John clarified. “The caption.”

Dave gaped, open-mouthed, before he realized John couldn’t see his amusing facial expression. “Shut up.”

“Yeah, that kinda makes up for it. But…”

“But what.”

Dave could almost hear John twirling the phone cord around his fingers. “I think you owe me, asshole. Big time.”

“Whoa now,” Dave spluttered. “Don’t curse around the kid.”

“I wasn’t. She’s at her aunt’s this afternoon.”

There was a smile in John’s voice. Hearing it made the corner of Dave’s mouth twitch up, too. “Does that mean what I think it means?”

“Hell yes,” John affirmed. “Hell fucking yes.”

Dave coughed. Loudly. Clearing his throat, he announced, “I have a sudden family emergency that necessitates me taking the afternoon off.”

“Come home soon,” was all John had the chance to say before Dave slammed the phone down and took off.


End file.
